


peter: *eats an apple* Is This Health?

by Ididntsignupforthisshit (myhamartia)



Series: *stay with me by sam smith plays while peter looks out the car window, makeup smeared to hell* [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: A lil Spider-Man action in here too!!, Anxiety Attacks, F/M, Father figure Tony Stark, Feminine Pronouns for Peter Parker, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Peter Parker, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, In which the avengers try and help Peter with their issues and they Aint Having It, Insomnia, M/M, Masculine Pronouns for Peter Parker, Multi, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trans Character, Trans Peter Parker, this fic is a tiny bit heavier than the last one im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 21:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14839769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myhamartia/pseuds/Ididntsignupforthisshit
Summary: “You know,” Peter gritted out, his wound pinching painfully. “Cap has two hands.”Sam sounded like he was frowning. “What does that mean?”“I mean-.” Peter held up his left hand. “This one’s for Bucky, right,” he lifted his right hand as well, “this one…”Sam cut him off sharply. “-Is also Bucky’s, because Buck has two hands too. Kinda. Most days.”“Then hold one of Bucky’s hands.” It wasreallyfucking simple, trust him. After all, Peter hadtwopartners. And he held their hands all the time.Peter is still struggling with nightmares and anxiety. His family is there to help try and put him back together.| Or: Steve has two hands and Sam wants to hold one, Loki didn't come here for Peter's sass, Petey has a deep conversation with Karen and then takes a well deserved nap. |





	peter: *eats an apple* Is This Health?

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read [peter: *does a kickflip* I'm Gay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14798288) then you probably should? I'm not Really sure if you'll get a lot of this if you dont, but like, gl fam  
>  
> 
> so there's triggers for anxiety and panic attacks in this one. 'Cause. you cant go through all that shit and expect to not be fucked Up.
> 
> this has got references to Infinity War, but like... since none of have seen the second part yet, I mostly stuck to what happened during the fight with the purple raisin. So, yeah, have fun kids!

“We’re gathered here today to commemorate the bravery of Penny Parker-Stark-Banner.”

Penny looked up in surprise to see Tony coming through the doors to the lab, looking comical in his flannel sleep pans and rugged band tee.

“Bravery unparalleled, because she came into my lab with _bare feet_.”

Penny frowned lightly, looking down to the issue in question. Her shoes were in a little pile beside her desk, lying lifeless; one red pump atop of the other. She was slumped in her chair one leg crossed over the other as she waiting on a string of test results. She twisted her chair back and forth and groaned at Tony. “My feet hurt,” she said, bouncing her calf in demonstration. “And I technically came into your lab wearing _heels_. I just…” She made a face and straightened up, using the arms of her chair to push herself up. “My feet hurt.” She cleared her throat and then gave him a little smile, like it would soften him up and he would be all _alright, Pen. I get it. Good night, I’m going back to bed!_

Fat chance, because Tony was still coming father into the room.

“First time wearing the heels?” Tony guessed, coming to stand next to Penny’s desk, a mug of coffee in hand.

“First time wearing heels general,” she confessed. She cleared her throat. “I usually go flats, or sneakers, or something. But I thought that they’d look good, so I bought them, and it turns out that you probably ought to break your shoes in before you wear them without backup shoes.” She wore a little glower and shrank down in the seat again. She frowned. “Hey, wait a second, why Parker-Stark-Banner?”

“You come into our lab, you’re our responsibility, and kind of like our love child,” Tony explained easily.

“Gross,” Penny said, nose scrunching up.

“What’s gross about love?” Tony demanded, his mouth set.

“What’s gross is the imagery that comes along with _love child_ ,” Penny sassed, lifting her eyebrow.

“Pfft.” Tony waved his hand in the air, as if to scoot the conversation aside. Damn, Penny wished that she had that power; that’d be amazing. No more super, super awkward conversations aimed towards puberty, or adulthood, or her sex life, or _other things._ “Anyway, what are you working on? Friday tells me that you’ve been up here for a couple hours straight: no bathroom breaks, no juice boxes.”

Penny looked up at him, blinking. “What time is it?” she questioned.

“Just after four.” Tony frowned down at her. “ _Which_ is so past curfew that it it’s almost legal again.”

Penny blanched. “I’m so sorry. Karen, shut down everything I have, please.”

“Of course, Penny.” She took her Karen-linked earpiece and stashed it in one of her desk drawers before jamming the Friday/house-linked one back in her ear. She stood up and grabbed her hoodie off the back of her chair and pulled it over her arms. She left it unzipped and hanging around her body as she toed back into her heels. It was funny; she was already a half an inch taller than Tony thanks to her recent growth spurt, but the heels gave her another three inches on him, and he had to look up to meet her eyes. “I really didn’t think it was that late.” She gathered her StarkPad up in her arms, coughing and clearing her throat as she went.

“You coming down with something?” Tony asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

She paused, eyes wide and shook her head. “No, I’m good. Promise.”

Tony grunted, but didn’t lose the look in his face. “Look, you did get in here after midnight,” Tony said, looking at her closely. “And that’s when you should have been… Doing what, exactly?”

“Been in my room?” she guessed.

Tony set his mug down and crossed his arms over his chest. “Try again.”

“Hanging out with Harley while watching a movie?”

He frowned, voice exasperated, “ _Asleep_.”

Penny turned the look on him. “Just like _you_ should be…?”

Tony snorted. “Nah, you don’t get to do that. Go get your ass in bed, I won’t have May’s Auntie Senses going off when she realizes that you’re not getting any sleep.” He made shooing gestures with his hands. “Go on, shoo. To bed.”

Penny pouted, her shoulders sagging. “But _Tony-_.”

“Don’t ‘but Tony’ me,” he snapped, taking her shoulders in his hands so he could steer her towards the doors. Penny groaned, but complied. “Friday, make sure she gets some fucking sleep.”

Penny made an opposing noise, but Tony pushed her the rest of the way out of the lab and shut the door behind her. Penny whirled around to see Tony tapping his code into the keypad, effectively locking Penny out.

He waved at her cheekily before turning to go do God knows what, having Friday bring up the house interface. She winced, but ultimately turned and shuffled along to her own room. After putting her StarkPad on its charging station on her desk, she toed off her heels next to her ottoman and shrugged her hoodie off, only to sling it over in the direction of the closet. She missed, but that’s whatever.

“Friday, can you give me Netflix?” she asked, voice muffled as she tried to pull her shirt over her head.

“Boss said to sleep,” she reminded him.

Penny frowned, pausing with one foot out of her shorts. “Okay but: _please_?”

“Sleep.”

Penny sighed petulantly and got into bed, pulling the covers around herself. “You’re no fun. _He’s_ no fun,” she whined.

“He’s only concerned for your health.”

She rolled her eyes. “What fun is _health_?”

Penny was intensely glad that Friday was intelligent enough that she let her stew like a child, instead of giving her a bullet pointed list of why being healthy _is_ fun, Penny! Semicolon, end parenthesis.

She groped for her phone on the nightstand and pulled up Netflix. Because fuck health and fuck you Friday.

Swear to God, Friday read Penny’s mind, because Netflix came up with a little blue banner, saying to check the wifi, because the connection? Nonexistent. “Friday?” she ventured. “Is there something wrong with the internet?”

“I severed your connection. Boss says to sleep, and he will change the wifi password if you don’t at least try to rest.”

Penny scowled, tossing her phone somewhere down the bed. “Now _that’s_ some bullshit.”

* * *

 

     So he didn’t sleep. He tossed and turned a lot. Sometimes it was literal. There was a little rubber ball he kept stashed in his bedside table drawer, for reasons _he_ didn’t even know, but it sure was useful then. He tossed it against the wall, caught it, and threw it back. It was a vicious cycle that got real old, _real quick_ , especially since with his Spidey Senses, he could catch the ball with his eyes closed.

Funnily enough, that’s what he was trying to avoid. His eyes burned and itched, but he didn’t shut them for much more than a blink.

So he was having a bad night. And – _And!_ He did try to sleep initially. _Promise!_ But, like…

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw red dust. He inhaled and felt it in his throat, grainy and strong. Tasting like salt and smelling like death and desperation. He didn’t think there was such a stench he would have labeled as _death_ , but Titan sure as hell took that notion and spun it on its head.

He didn’t remember death, but he could remember dying. He could remember the fight up until he died. He could remember the look on Tony’s face as he started to disappear. He could remember the dark feeling pooling in his gut and the tightness in his skin. How, as he was lying there in that damn _red dirt_ , his fingers tried to press against his thighs and his sides, but found nothing. He couldn’t breathe, and everything was happening so _slowly_. Tony’s hands pressed at his shoulders, talking to him, he thought, but he couldn’t hear, couldn’t _breathe_ , and couldn’t talk anymore, and oh – _oh God what’s happened, why, what the hell is happening, Mr. Stark-!_

He cleared his throat, wouldn’t stop clearing his throat.

Rocking back and forth, he knew he should breathe, but it hurt, _dear fucking God, did it hurt_. He could barely pull any air in his nose, because it was stuffed full and snot dripped from his nostrils.

He tried to make himself breathe before he passed out. He already felt the pressure in his face, and the ache in his lungs. Peter cleared his throat and dug his fingers into his thighs, making sure that they were there _he’s there, he’s in one piece_.

God, he just wished he could stay conscious.

* * *

 

     Know what’s cool about waking up after literally passing the fuck out?

Nothing. Absolutely. Fucking. Nothing.

Peter woke up with his cheek pressed against the floor, dried snot and drool caked all over one singular side of his face, and a crick in his neck. Not to mention the loads and loads of eye crust he was sporting. He tried to move, but his shoulders were stiff, and his head was groggy and absolutely _pounding_.

Instead, he gulped in a breath and held it in his lungs for a solid ten seconds before letting it out and breathing back in.

Ugh. He felt _awful_.

Slowly, he pulled himself the rest of the way out of his desk and up to stand. He scratched at his face, but made a sour face at the saliva/snot mixture that flaked off and got stuck under his fingernails, so instead he just stood up on wobbly legs and tried to work his shoulders out.

“Good morning,” Friday said cheerily, like she didn’t know what kind of a bad morning Peter was having.

Which. Well, that was a good thing.

“Hi, Friday.”

The holoscreen popped up in front of him, letting him scroll through his updates. _Tony accidentally spilled his coffee over his desk, but cleaned it up and fixed the prototype of your drone (no, he didn’t build it any farther than you had it, don’t worry). Wanda wanted everyone to see this cute picture of a turtle she found outside, Harley laid out an impressive array of Poptarts on the kitchen counter so come and get it..._

There were seven more notifications, but Peter swiped the holoscreen away.

“Can I get my pronoun board?” he croaked out.

“Of course.”

Another screen appeared. It was sort of like a multiple choice questionnaire.

_Pronouns: (check one, or multiple) she/her, he/him, they/them, other (please specify)_

_Name: Penny, Peter, Other (please specify)_

_Anything to declare?_

He checked off “Peter” and “he/him,” and left the last box blank before he swiped that screen away too.

Tony came up with the pronoun board after Harley mentioned their neat pronoun pin idea. Tony said that he’d still look into it, if Peter wanted, but this would be a good way to spread the word among everybody so they wouldn’t need to ask, it would just be with their notifications – and everyone checked their notifications, like, as soon as they got them.

But anyhow, Tony whipped the board up in an afternoon Peter told him that he was officially out to every Avenger. Since he wasn’t in danger of being outted, Tony gladly set it up. It was one of the first things Peter did before getting out of bed. Or, rather… _floor_ , in this case.

After slinging on some sort of tee shirt and a pair of sweats, Peter shuffled out into the hallway. He was thankful that there was no one in their living room this morning – not that there was a lot of the time. Nearly everyone preferred to lounge on the third floor, where everyone else was practically within reach. The only times Peter had ever seen anyone actively hanging around the living room of the fifth floor was when they needed to cool down from an argument, or was working on some kind of paperwork.

Okay, so the fifth floor living room was more like a cushy office than anything else.

Peter shuffled to the bathroom and threw the door open, only to find someone standing in front of the counter, looking intensely into the mirror.

He froze, locking eyes in the mirror with none other than Loki Odinson, who was prodding at a red spot on the side of his nose. Peter stood stock still, eyes squinted – well, his eyes were squinted more at the intense vanity lights than at Loki, because Loki was a pretty cool person and Peter really enjoyed his company when he came to visit the compound.

“Hello, Peter,” he greeted slowly, turning around to face the younger man. He took a good look at good ol’ gross Peter Parker before making a pitying face. “Well, don’t you look like hell,” he joked, a half-smile pulling at his mouth so Peter didn’t take offense, “and I should know; I’ve been there.”

Peter scoffed. “We’ve all seen Hell, Loki, you aren’t special.” It was supposed to come off like a quip. Smart, and funny, and not like Peter had been to war and _seen things_. You know. Because Peter _totally_ hadn’t done that, nope, not at all.

Loki’s mouth thinned out, and his eyes softened, but he didn’t say anything more, which Peter thought was odd. Loki wasn’t one to be at a loss for words.

He just turned back to the sink, took a fresh rag from the basket in the corner of the counter and ran hot water through it. He wrung it out and handed it to Peter. “There you go,” he said once Peter took the cloth from him. “Wouldn’t want everyone’s favorite Spider Son looking like his terrors, now would we?”

Peter let out a weak laugh and wiped at his eyes with the rag, feeling an awful lot like a kitten, with his eyes glued shut, having to rely on the help of others to be ready for what the world has in store for him. He peeked up at Loki, who was still watching him warily. “I’m sorry,” he apologized as he scrubbed at his cheek, “I didn’t have a great night.” Loki’s eyebrows rose as if to say _“No shit,”_ or, you know, whatever the proper Asgardian equivalent was. Loki didn’t ask if he wanted to talk about it, and Peter was _oh_ , so thankful. But Peter didn’t exactly like the silence that began to stretch around them, pressing in like a cheap slime video on Instagram. No sparkles or cool textures, either. Just regular old slime being pushed around with too-long acrylic nails.

 _Uh._ What was he talking about?

The warmth of the rag was comforting, but there was still a throbbing in his head. He looked again to Loki and tried to think of a conversation point.

Oh. Duh.

“So when did you get here?” he asked.

“My brother and I have been here all night,” Loki told him.

Peter hummed, frowning. “Tony didn’t say anything when he tried to get me to go to bed.”

“Maybe he had other things on his mind,” Loki offered flatly. Peter looked at him deadpan.

He finished scrubbing off his face and washed the rag out in the sink. “Have you already had breakfast?” He turned to Loki, who was outside the bathroom, now.

Loki lifted a critical eyebrow at him. “I do believe that the day is more than half over by now.”

Peter’s eyes widened, and then he grimaced. “Oh fuck,” he whispered. “Friday, what time is it?”

“2:14 in the afternoon.”

Peter’s body curled in on itself, shoulders hunching as he winced almost violently and cursed again. “I was supposed to train with Steve and Bucky today.”

“They elected to train without you after I told them how little sleep you’ve had this past week.”

“Oh my God, Friday, just project it all over the house, why don’t you!” he burst, looking angrily at the ceiling, like the molding itself had betrayed him.

“Would you like me to?” she sassed, before going on in what was surely a PSA style going on all over the compound. “Peter Parker-.”

“Fuckin’ _cease_!” he shouted. “Friday, cut it out!”

She did, cutting the announcement off instantly. What a ways artificial intelligence had come, Peter mused. Now they’re gaining attitude and fucking _ragging on him._

 _Heck_.

Loki laughed, taking in the sheer ridiculousness, and how angry Peter was.

Now Peter felt even more like a kitten. Anger gets overlooked and thought of as humorous or cute. _Sick_. What a great day this turned out to be.

The throbbing of his head had his groaning, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. “I’m going to go get something to eat,” he said miserably, addressing the room itself more than Loki. “Good to see you, though.” He paused in step and patted Loki’s arm, briefly pressing his forehead against his shoulder before passing him by and heading towards the elevators.

He came out of the elevator to bright lights. Well, they weren’t any brighter than normal, but homeboy’s head was getting ready to just explode and he really didn’t need the extra encouragement.

He made the hand motion in the air and the lights dimmed to about 45%. Peter decided that he liked Friday again, now that he didn’t have to hold his hand over his eyes. He thanked her as he got to the kitchen.

After a glass of water was retrieved and promptly emptied in four gulps, Peter went to find something to eat in the fridge. There wasn’t a lot of premade food, but the list of ingredients was just insane. Things like egg and raw chicken breasts and celery stared back at him. And, yeah, it did occur to him that he could have made some scrambled eggs or something, but simply the thought made him want to crawl back into bed and hoist the covers over his head, hunger be damned.

He knew he needed to eat something, though, so he made due with an apple he found in a bowl next to the fridge. He sat down at the bar, working his way through as much of it as he could. And, you know, he did eat most of it before he’d just couldn’t stomach any more of it. So he put it at an arm’s length on the bar before laying his head down. The marble was cool against his cheek and he closed his eyes in bliss.

Like a lava lamp, or one of those cool wands with the water and the glitter and the little sequin-animal-cut-out-things where the air bubble always flowed to the top of the container, the pounding of his headache began to be more concentrated towards the upper part of his head.

Annndddd it just occurred to him that he could have just compared the pain to a straight up air bubble, because _air bubbles always rise to the surface_ , way to go, Parker. Real genius you are.

He hoped the fog in his head would clear soon. He didn’t like it when he got stupid.

Like. “Not intelligent” kind of stupid. Because Peter could be plenty stupid without even _trying_. Like when he thought that Aunt May would just never find out about Spiderman, or when he tried to take on Vulture all by himself and ended up with a building collapsed on top of him. Or when he thought it was a good-ass idea to sneak aboard _an alien spaceship-!_

 _Oof_ , time to think about something else.

He cracked his eyes open and looked at the wall. Pretty cool wall. Very nice non-triggering wall. Kind of bland, but that’s nothing a bit of cool art wouldn’t fix. Maybe he should ask Tony if it was cool to have one of Michelle’s pieces up there. _Oh, that’d be super cool_.

He smiled lazily, looking over the spot while he tried to imagine which piece would be best suited for the kitchen/living room meld.

“Jesus, why’s it so dark in here? Friday, bring up the lights for me.”

Peter barely had time to shield his eyes before the lights went back up to full brightness. Peter let out a miserable whine with his arm tossed over his head.

Sam rounded the counter and opened the fridge. “Oh-ho,” he said jovially. Honestly? Why. Just why, Sam. “I see that Sleeping Beauty finally rose from her slumber chambers.”

“What the fuck is a slumber chamber?” Peter asked tightly, not gracing Sam with eye contact. He was lucky he got a verbal response. He traded cool, mature eye contact for Supernova™ brand light. How’s that business transaction taste?

“Don’t tell me you can’t put two and two together,” Sam said. Peter just groaned and flopped his hand against the counter like a dead fish. Sam paused for a second. “And what’s your deal? Why are you getting so intimate with the counter over there?”

Peter frowned, his nose all scrunched up. “I’ve got a really bad headache,” he answered maybe a bit sharper than he intended.

Sam hummed. “Friday, put the kid’s light settings back up, please.”

The lights dimmed, and Peter sighed happily, letting his arm drop back to the counter. “Thanks.”

“You know, that’s what happens when you sleep so late. Or sleep too little. I heard from Steve-,”

“Oh my God,” Peter moaned. ”I’m fine, Sam. Really, I am. I just had a bad night, is all.”

He looked up at Sam, who was already regarding him. “Bad night like _my covers won’t act right, my boxers are bunched, and it’s too hot in here_ bad night, or traumatic bad night?” Sam watched as Peter teethed at his lip. He reached over for his apple just for something to do while avoiding Sam’s eyes and the obvious answer that lingered between them. “Damn, I wish Cap had made one of those PSA things for this kind of thing.”

Peter snorted and almost choked on his apple.

“ _So,_ ” Sam said in a deep “Captain America” brand Steve Rogers’ voice, “ _you’ve got flashbacks._ ”

Peter’s shoulders shook with laughter – that is, until there was some kinda weird blood flow that happened in his skull, because there was this clenching kind of thing that happened, and the pounding got _really_ intense until he clutched at his head and calmed himself down.

“I don’t think they were envisioning this kind of thing when they made those,” Peter remarked, his voice still light. Sam just shrugged, still smiling.

“We oughta suggest it to Stark. He’d make Cap do it in a heartbeat.”

Peter definitely agreed. “God, I wish.”

Sam came closer to the counter and rapped his knuckles on the marble a couple of times. “You should talk about it, kid,” he said, seriousness taking the foreground of his tone, cautiousness and concern popping up in the background.

Peter took in a little breath and shrugged a shoulder. “But I’m okay,” he said slowly. “I kind of fell asleep on it, so I’m fine now.”

Sam made a disbelieving face. The one that said _I know you’re bullshitting, but I’m not going to push and make it worse_. Oof, Peter saw that face a lot.

“I promise,” he tried again, holding up the ‘scout’s honor’ symbol.

True to Peter’s interpretation of _The Face_ , Sam didn’t push, but instead nodded wearily and went back to the fridge.

“It ain’t good to bottle it in.”

“I’m not bottling,” Peter insisted.

The intensity of Sam’s _Don’t Bullshit_ Me face was just… overwhelming. Wow. Sam would be a great dad; he already knew all of the faces, and the talks, and how to appropriately make Peter want to bury himself underground. “You can come to me any time if you need to talk,” Sam went on, but with his face stuck in the refrigerator this time. He took out a box of mushrooms and began poking through them, checking for freshness.

“Thanks, Sam,” he said, very, very noncommittally, before scooping up his apple and making his excuses to leave the room.

* * *

 

     His conversation with Sam left him feeling a lot better, actually. His shoulders lost a lot of their tension and everything.

When asked, Friday told him that Tony was in the lab, Bruce, too. Which meant that Peter had to stop by his room and pick up a nice pair of shades before stepping into the lab because _she was bright_ and Tony had this thing about just… not. Lowering the brightness. Ever. The lab always stayed lit up. Didn’t matter if it was four o’clock in the morning, if someone was in there, you were going to have to deal with the light.

Maybe it was Tony’s way of weeding out the weak?

Peter shrugged and made a mental note to maybe ask Tony later.

Shades in place (proper shades, not just color tinted glasses, To _NY_ ), Peter stepped into the lab.

He was greeted, predictably, by Tony teasing him for getting up to late and “ _You’re actually barefoot in my lab. I can’t believe it.  Peter Benjamin Parker-.”_

Peter just laughed along with them, explained the shades when necessary.

“Yeah, I know you read most of your updates-,” When expanded upon, every update would list who all had seen it; a useful feature when trying to fill someone in on just ‘what they missed,’ “-but I did accidentally spill a drink all over your desk right after you went to bed,” he confessed. “I got it cleaned up, though.

“Right.” Peter nodded and went over to his desk to assess the damage. Like Tony said, he had cleaned up, and there was ( _blessedly_ ) almost no sign that he had been near Peter’s space, except that a few things were shifted around.

He swapped out his earpiece, Friday for Karen, and pulled her out of sleep mode with just a mention of her name.

“Hello, Peter.” She was hooked up and synced with Friday. They didn’t share many systems, but Peter could get all of his notifications and important updates through Karen. Tony had proposed that they link the pronoun board to Karen, and Peter was instantly on the idea. She, as well as everyone else it was sent to, got the notification and began responding accordingly. Yeah – it was pretty great!

“Hey Karen,” he said, smiling. “So about those calibration issues we were going through yesterday…”

* * *

 

     It was about four o’clock when Peter pulled up her pronoun board and checked the “she/her” box.

It just wasn’t… a black and white day. She felt like she wanted to be called one thing one moment, and then the opposite the next moment. But “they” didn’t feel right? “She” felt like the neutral option today? It was a fucking mess, and Peter just fucking _loved_ weird gender days.

Jeez. Cool thing to add atop everything else happening. Her skin felt tight and her tee shirt shifted against her skin in all sorts of ways that she hated. Her pants were too hot, but when she got up to change them, she got really cold, like, halfway there.

Over stimulation was just. So fun. Peter would definitely pay money and wait in line just to experience it. So great. So fun.

God, douse her in water and toss her in a bucket of sand.

 _Ew, wait, fuck_.

Just the thought gave her a pause. Her fingers froze over her keyboard and she stopped the mindless ramble she was filling the air with. She shivered, feeling a phantom texture of sand, but really it was coarse dirt, over her hands and crawling down her neck.

Shit. Shit, shit, _shit, shit, fuck-!_

Her body shook and her jaw clenched tightly. She put her hands in her lap so she could dig her fingers into the meat of her thighs.

She took a breath. Long and deep. This was _way_ too much like last night for her liking. ‘Cause that was some bullshit, and if she never had to dip into _that_ dish again, it’d be too damn soon.

She steadied her breathing and let go of her hands in favor of curling them around the edge of her desk. Which. _Whoop._ Big mistake, because when she jerked her hand back, her fingers came away sticky.

Peter frowned, curling her hand back over the side, just to see if she actually imagined it. No _pe, okay ew, gross_.

It wasn’t a wet sticky, but more of a coagulated _my fingers are gonna be gross, but I might not notice it yet_ kinda sticky.

It reminded her of her webs – and there was nothing inherently bad about that, it’s just that it wasn’t that good _right now_ , because all she could think about is how, when Tony had repo’d her suit and she went after Vulture. How, when the warehouse was dropped on top of her, a spare canister of web fluid broke and she was left with webs all down in her sleeve and stuck to her hand.

Cool. Cool, cool, cool. This was great.

“Peter?” Karen asked. “Are you alright?”

She gulped down some air and tried to fight the trembling in her hands. “I’m good,” she told her, like it was enough to convince Peter herself. “I just need to wash my hands.” She pushed up from the table and made a mad dash to the bathroom, hands held up like she was trying to keep germs off her super clean hands before she slipped into some scrubs to perform surgery.

The rest of the day kind of went the same way, though she didn’t brave the lab again. She tried chilling in her room for a while, but the walls felt small, so she moved to the wide, very nice and breathable and _empty_ living room. She flopped on the couch and watched Netflix for an hour and a half. Sure, she squirmed the entire time because nothing felt right against her skin, and the texture of the blanket she sat on was _not good_ , but she tried to deal and not make a fuss, even to herself.

She wanted to hang out with Loki and Thor today, or at the very least Harley, but she eventually decided that was a _Bad Plan_ since she couldn’t even handle kicking it alone.

And she felt guilty, because she was going to go and apologize to Bucky and Steve for over-sleeping, but the longer she waited the more that felt like and _insanely huge_ task she wanted no part in. What if they wanted her to, like, go running with them or something? God forbid _spar_. She’d rather fall in a lake right now.

_OOF, BAD IMAGERY. BEEN THERE DONE THAT. COME **ON** PETER, GET IT TOGETHER._

She took a shaky breath and exited Netflix before lowering herself to the floor so she could lay flat on her back. The hardwood floor was a nice, smooth, neutral texture and she thought it was a very nice anchor point.

 "Hey Karen," she said quietly, rolling over to her stomach. She scooted to the couch until half of her body was tucked underneath it, reminding her that she was here. She was good. She could feel every inch of her legs.

“Yes, Peter?”

She sighed in shaky relief when she answered him. “Do you ever worry that you’re going to disappear?”

Karen hesitated. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said.

“Uhm…” Peter chewed on her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. “Remember when we were on Titan?”

“I can’t forget it.”

And that might have been an offhand comment to Karen. Something that said _No one has told me to delete it_.

But to Peter?

To Peter, it swept up her insides in one terrifying swoop. It tied her stomach in knots and dropped it right off the Empire State building. She imagined Thanos watching it fall off the edge, smiling serenely as she fell, like he had accomplished something great.

“Me neither,” she choked out. “I can _feel_ it, Karen.”

“Feel what?”

“Everything. I remember waking up, and I thought I was still dying. How I choked on the air and had a panic attack right after we all reappeared. Sometimes my chest hurts, like I was slammed back down into the ground, like he cracked my ribs. A-And it hurts to breathe. And I don’t know how to help it, because it’ll just _happen_ , and I won’t even be doing anything. The pressure is there, and I can’t even get it off because – because _it isn’t actually there_.” She inhaled shakily. “And that’s a good day. A fucking _good_ day. The bad days are so… _fucked_ up. I can’t even – God, I can’t even fucking talk right.” She laughed, despite herself. It wasn’t a joyous sound. It was dark, bitter. It hurt, even leaving her chest.

“Sometimes I forget that Ned died, too, because I’m so wrapped up in my own shit. It hurt him, too.” She brought a hand up to scrub a knuckle in her eye socket. “It hurt him, but I can’t even talk to him about it, because every time I even _think_ about it, I panic. And then I panic, because Ned has to take care of me, when I should be taking care of him.” She cleared her throat and tried _really_ hard not to let her tears fall. “Everyone says that I should talk about it, but I…” She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her temple into the hardwood floor. “I _want_ to forget. If I could, I would wipe my whole hard drive clean and start over.”

Karen didn’t call her on what that sounded like. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Peter thought that someone would come crashing into the room with a straight jacket and a voucher for a free psychological evaluation.

No one came. It was just Peter, a kid who was half-tucked under a piece of furniture, and her best friend and trusted confidant.

When Karen went on, her voice was soft. “That would imply ridding yourself of everything that makes you Peter Parker,” she said gently. “To begin again with a blank slate would be to erase everything about you, good and bad.”

Peter almost said _Hey! Maybe that’s a good thing_ , but she bit the inside of her lip and held it in.

“And I would miss you very much, Peter.”

Peter looked up, trying to keep those tears in, but she was failing. _Oh god, she was failing._

“Thanks, Kare,” she said, voice wobbling drastically. “I think, I, uh – I’m gonna try and sleep for a while.” She looked at the ceiling, of the light fixtures, gentle without their power.

“Okay. Good night, Peter.”

“Night, Karen.” She pulled her earpiece and put it on the floor beside her head before rolling over and squeezing her eyes shut.

* * *

 

     Peter didn’t have an overabundance of days when she woke up feeling as awful as she did the morning before. She’d be okay, great even, for great stretches of time before she was smacked in the back of the head with some sort of panic attack. And then she would be a mess for… well, it varied.

Sometimes she would wake up from a nightmare, go have a bowl of ice cream, and then all would be right with the world. But this time? This time was prolonged. It had been going on for about a week. It started off small, just a strange gummy feeling under her skin, bubbling up until the real issues presented themselves.

She started sleeping less, and waking up in the middle of the night. She didn’t have a nightmare every night. Sometimes it was just a feeling of unease, knowing something was so, so _wrong_. Her throat felt clogged, and she tasted an overabundance of salt and grime in her mouth.

Her brain told her that there were threats nearby, while her Spidey Senses remained dormant. She didn’t know which to trust.

It got worse gradually, until she had a nightmare about Titan. Nothing was skirted around, all laid out in graphic, horrifying detail. That’s why she was in the lab last night. She thought that if she wasn’t sleeping, she could at least do something useful.

And… well, the rest was obvious.

But here, waking up, Peter felt some shaky semblance of okay.

She picked her head up from the floor and looked around the room. It was pitch black, with no light even coming through the windows. _Oof_. She pushed herself up to her hands and knees and looked around the area. The living room was still predictably empty, but a clock on the wall said that it was just after seven.

Her stomach growled and she made an odd gurgling sound from the back of her throat.  Whoa, okay, maybe she wasn’t fully awake, yet.

She stood up, taking Karen’s earpiece with her.

Peter paused outside the door to the lab and rocked on the balls of her feet. “Uh, so, Karen,” she said quietly.

“I’m here, Peter.”

There was this feeling in Peter’s chest. It puffed up like a helium-filled balloon, and it make Peter so, _so_ happy. He smiled gently. “Thanks. For talking to me earlier.”

Her voice was warm, a beautiful thing of comfort. “Always.”

     Peter stopped by the lab and swapped Karen’s earpiece out with Friday’s. She registered Peter instantly.

“Good nap?” she asked. Of course she knew. Peter rolled her eyes with a tiny smile.

“Eh,” Peter mumbled in reply. She shuffled in the lab’s bathroom and retrieved a wet rag so she could go back in and wipe her table down. It started as just the lip of the table, but soon she was wiping carefully under everything and across every surface running her fingers over everything to make sure the mess was gone and the surface was smooth and resolutely _not_ sticky.

She hung up the rag when she was done and took a second to shake out her body, starting in her hands, moving to her shoulders. She rolled her neck as she took the elevator down to the third level. 

A sandwich, she thought, and then she’d hit the gym before bed.

* * *

 

     The general unease they’d felt throughout the past week or so generally bled away before they knew it. And any last tendrils were wiped away the second Happy drove them back into New York City.

‘Cause guess what.

Swinging through New York, kicking bad guys in the pants? Cathartic as all hell.

Last week was a bad one, but they’re all good right now. Totally fine and chill. _Cool_ , even. See, they used the _cool_ word that dispels all worry and panic instantly.

Wow, Peter was good at this.

And, well, they weren’t actually swinging through the streets or anything right now, and they weren’t _really_ beating bad guys up either, but they were on a mission, feeling really good and useful. ‘Cause this was a mission Tony let them go on all their own. They didn’t even have to, like, sneak it past him, or anything!

_Shocker, right?_

The guys they were supposed to be staking out were leftovers from Vulture’s guys. Ex _actly_ , another shocker. But then again, it was kind of predictable, because even though Toomes was in jail didn’t mean that the others in his crew were just going to automatically stop making weapons, or anything.

Okay, well, they did for a while after Toomes’ trial, but they’ve recently been cropping back up, and Peter was given permission to check it out!

Uhm. Not that they… Uh. Not that they _needed_ permission to go out and stop bad guys and stuff. They could do just fine on their own!

Tony just got a little upset when Peter didn’t keep him in the know, or neglected to debrief him after they get back from being a badass in the streets of NY. He didn’t ground Peter anymore, thankfully (Peter’s almost a legal adult, thank you), but he still got all Tony Stark™ brand upset. Like... he wouldn’t let Peter hear the end of whatever was bothering him for the next three or four weeks while they earned back Tony’s good will.

One time Peter hacked the suit while on a Skype call with Ned, and Tony didn’t even know for a week and a half. He was _seriously_ peeved after that.

But not anymore! Because this was serious! A serious legitimate mission that their dad-figure totally let them out on!

_Hhhhhhhhhh._

They heard thunder in the distance and it drew them out of their reverie.

Okay, focus. Less embarrassing stuff, and more _stakeouts_. They really had to get this shit done before it rained.

Yeah. Toomes’ crew was operating again. They weren’t exactly sure if they were still under Toomes’ direction, but that was for someone else to determine. Peter’s mission was to watch this bank of weapons and, if they could, determine how much supplies they have in their little Totally Legitimate Coming Soon To You, Queens :), Rebranded and Renewed, Independent Construction Company.

I mean. Couldn’t they have at least picked another business to go into? Like, for example: _uh…_

Yeah, well, their mind blanked, but that doesn’t mean anything, okay? Okay.

They’ve got a warehouse downtown, and Spidey was on the roof, doing their spider-y thing.

There were these skylights with big triangular domes protruding from the roof, so Peter was, naturally, looking through them.

“Uh…” they muttered quietly, “Karen, can you zoom in on that?” She was on it instantly. Ugh, how amazing was she? “Thanks.” Okay, so there was stores of some kind of weapon on grated racks on the far wall. They looked like serious business, but also like Peter should _really, really get their hands on one because they looked pretty sweet_.

Ahem. No, they meant, uh… Totally bad. Gotta report them into SHIELD immediately.

They snorted a laugh like Tony wasn’t going to keep at least one of each kind of weapon to dissect.

There was a total of all of four people on-site, but there was really no telling who else could be in on the operation. And they had already observed at least nine more coming and going within the past couple of days. So, _yep_. Karen updated them as she logged each and every face, pulling up their records and any information she had on them.

“Good job, Karen,” they praised her, a proud smile playing on their mouth.

“Thank you, Peter,” she said warmly.

Peter watched for a few more minutes, their thoughts set to the soundtrack of occasional thunder and flashes of lightening, they finally rocked back on their heels. There were a couple of entrances, those being the main door, the bay doors, and a few vents they spotted along the way. Friday had pulled the schematics before Peter left, Tony’s orders. They figured that this is what you get when you get your missions authorized. ( _Ooohhh, that’s good. Sounds official, and not at all like you asked your dad if you could go on a date_. …Is that how dads worked? Peter didn’t really know, they didn’t have an official one.) You get things like resources and _backup_. You know; flashy shit.

They’ll digress.

There were a few vents and lower-floor windows that they could go through in theory, but upon a building scan, Karen said that was a No Go because they’ve got these, like, laser sensors over the window coverings, and they were burning _hot_. So yeah, they’d like to keep their limbs, thanks.

And yet, there was no lasers around the skylights. _Ha_ , lame.

Then again, they probably thought that they would _most likely_ know when someone came crashing through their roof, into their place.

Peter grinned while moved to kneel beside the one window panel on this side of the skylight that unlatched and opened wide. Really, really hoping that it didn’t start raining _just yet,_ they strung the window wide open by connecting it to the pane behind it with some good ol’ webbing and crawled inside.

The initial ‘ _get in the window and don’t fall down’_ was a little awkward and worrying, but it was all good, and Peter was able to start crawling along the ceiling.

Once they got to a corner that was basically uninhabited (and close to the neat weapon display rack, ha ha haaaa), they crawled down the wall before just dropping onto the balls of their feet. Unfortunately, this was a recon mission, so they couldn’t just pop in, web a few weapons together like they were tying them together with a bow, and swing out of there. No, they had to skirt around people and be _sneaky_. Which they weren’t affronted by, don’t get them wrong.

They just weren’t the best at being sneaky, because they liked being in the thick of things, and, okay, they’ll admit it. They kind of like to talk. It’s hard keeping their volume down as they talked to Karen and Karen alone as they crept through a _clearly_ inhabited warehouse.

Even if they weren’t great at sneaking, they were sure as hell going to do their best.

Peter was light on their feet, like, well, always. They skirted around the sides, eyes intent on a man lying across a beat up old couch in a quaint little space decorated with a coffee table, said couch, and a minifridge piled up with magazines on top. Cosmos, to be really specific, but whatever, Peter wasn’t going to discriminate.

The man lying down had an arm tossed over his face and his shoes kicked off in a messy pile at the end of the couch. He looked like he was asleep, and he was the only one within thirty feet of Peter. _Sweet_.

Peter turned around and looked back to the little cache of weapons hung on the wall. There was exactly zero swords, and they found that a little disappointing, because swords were so cool, and short-range, and weren’t really useful against Peter, so they liked them.

But the guns were cool too, they guessed. Most of them had that neat purple glow that Peter began to associate with the Chitauri that Toomes’ team started dismantling to make their sweet weapons. Others were different, and made of things Peter didn’t recognize. A cool souvenir, as far as Peter was concerned.

“Can you scan this thing, Karen?”

They saw the analytic work on their HUD, scanning over the body of the gun closest to them. Most of it was sleek and small, probably just bigger than their palm, but the barrel jutted out about eight inches. A cute lil’ thing, really.

“It’ll take a while to complete the scan,” she said, “but I can tell you that it’s safe for transport.”

“Thank you!” They grinned and wiggled their fingers as deviously as they dared while they set about cautiously unhooking the gun from the grate and, for lack of better means, just webbed it directly to their outer thigh. It was small, and smooth, and didn’t prod into their muscle _too bad_ , so it was all good.

Easy peasy, puddin’ and pie.

Damn, maybe they _were_ good at this kind of thing.

Which was what they thought until they were nearly to where they were supposed to start crawling back up the wall. Which was also when there was a resounding _CRACK_ of lightening, and where there was a light pattering of rain on the concrete flooring, the water began pounding. _Which. Just. So. Happened,_ the person, who looked like he was in a _zone_ a second ago, all wrapped up in some developmental stuff and things, looked up, brow furrowed, so see the skylight leaking buckets of rain, and a certain Spidery-Looking-Person staring right back at him.

“Oh shit,” Peter breathed in the split second that it took the man to register just what the fresh load of fuck was happening, and he reached for his weapon in a holster strapped to his ankle.

 _Sweet_ , a moment Peter had to themselves.

They twisted around and booked it, jumping up on the wall. There was some screaming behind them, as the first dude took everyone else’s attention and jammed it into Peter full force. Peter felt _minutely_ sorry for interrupting the Couch Guy’s nap, and hoped he didn’t his socks wet with the puddle on the floor.

Karen told him that everyone was now _alert AF_ , and, according to some thermo scans, everybody had a weapon. (Including Couch Guy, wow, even with wet socks. That’s some serious dedication.)

Good. Rockin’ good times, Peter thought bitterly, as the people below began scuffling around and shouting at them. They didn’t even hear the shot, but they sure sensed it. Their hair on their arms and the nape of their neck stood on end, so they pushed off the wall at a second’s notice and into a summersault in the air while their arm shot out, webbing onto the ceiling for support.

Which should’ve been just fine, if they weren’t still getting shot at, and if the position didn’t leave them dangling like some kind of holiday ornament. And (this is the best part) if the brittle, old skylights didn’t just break under their weight.

_Oh my Gooooooooood, they were not going to hear the end of this._

The glass shattered and they were falling again, screeching a totally manly curse while they shot another web, looking for clean purchase. Did they get it? Not unless you count one of the goon’s shoulders. _Great! Just fucking great. Fantastic._

But then again… You know, while they’re there, they might as well…

Peter yanked on the guy’s shoulder and sent him spiraling just before they hit they hit the ground. Dude hit his head and was out cold, and Peter winced in sympathy for him.

They let out a strangled yelp and forced themselves to use the momentum to roll over and get up to their feet. Another shot, this time there were actual bullets. Peter thought that was weird, because they hadn’t had an actual, non-enhanced, lead bulleted _gun_ , in like… A _hot_ minute.

It had been a while, okay.

“Would you like me to call for back up?” Karen asked.

“No!” Peter shouted, bending quickly out of the way of a bullet – though not fast enough, judging by the tearing pain blossoming in their side. They shouted and made a mad break for shelter in the form of a support column. “How am I looking, Karen?”

“The bullet just grazed you,” she informed him. “The suit is damaged, but it only needs minor repair.

“Cool,” Peter breathed. “Help me get the hell out of here.”

“The window behind you and six feet to your left. The censors are easy to dismantle from the inside. All you would need to do is short circuit them.”

And dammit, they could have cried tears of joy at that. “Now I just have to get there so I can look at what I’m working with.”

Instead, Karen just brought up the stun webs on the HUD and waited for Peter’s approval to equip them.

“Karen, wanna get married?” they asked breathlessly. “’Cause you’re amazing.”

“I hear that a lot.” She sounded rightfully smug. Peter’s stun web seemed to do the trick, because Karen announced that the window was woefully unprotected from there, and they were free to get the hell out of dodge.

Which was cool, because a splinter of the column they were leaning against broke and flew off to Peter’s right. They felt it shake against their back and winced, clearing their throat. They eyed the window and took in a lungful of air.

“Ready, Karen?” they asked.

“Always, Peter.”

The window was only six foot away, sure, but the floor was getting wet from all the rain coming in, and they were getting shot at, so the fact that they slipped on the concrete before even making their move could _probably_ be excused. Instead of making a mad dash for it, they webbed both sides of the window and yanked himself forward feet first so that they crashed through the window and into the alley, cursing all the merry way. They didn’t stop though, just. Kept. Running.

Someone hopped out into the alley behind them and they could hear them running after them at full tilt.

Hah. _Shit_.

Peter leaned forward and started running faster. And it wouldn’t have been a problem, if the dude’s shitty gun skills wouldn’t have lucked out. Peter’s shoulders jerked forward with the shot, shock blowing their eyes wide and ripping a scream from their throat. They tried to cup a hand over the wound, but they were snapped out of it by Karen.

“Peter, you don’t have time to stop.”

“What, you scared for me, Kare?” they teased weakly, but obeyed, running as fast as they could out of the alley.

“You need to get to the top of that building.”

Peter looked around, wincing. “There’s a lot of buildings, Karen.”

A beautiful little red ribbon lit up the street for them in the heads-up display, and Peter let out a sigh of relief, running following the ribbon. The city streets were never truly empty, but, blessedly, there wasn’t a mass crowd all along the streets. The rain pounded down hard, and while they weren’t shooting after him at the moment, Karen informed Peter that they were _very_ much still following them.

“Fuck,” Peter cursed lowly, turning the corner as directed. The looked up the building they were supposed to scale, following the red indicator.

“They’re close, Peter,” Karen reminded them, and that’s all they needed before climbing the wall, webbing up to give himself a head start.

Once over the lip of the building, about four feet in, they knelt down for a second, giving themselves a moment to catch their breath. The gun was still strapped to their thigh, but now it was digging into their skin uncomfortably. _Great_.

They heaved for a few long moments before Karen urged them to get up again. The goons were sure to figure out where Peter went at some point. So they struggled to their feet and took a couple of steps forward.

“This has been a great week,” they sighed ruefully. They jumped one building, and then another, and swung for another couple blocks until they dropped down on a roof of an apartment building Karen deemed safe. They sat down right in the middle of the roof, gravel digging into their butt, and rain beating down on their body. Swinging was killing their shoulder. They could feel the bullet inside their body and _wow_ , it kinda stung. Just a little. Not like Peter was, like, gritting their teeth with pain or anything.

“Would you like me to call Mr. Stark?” Karen asked.

“Don’t. You. Dare,” Peter huffed. “It was already really hard swinging on this shoulder,” they whined, finally reaching up to gently prod around the flesh of the bullet wound. “Judging by lack of exit wound, it’s still in there?” An obvious question, really. Karen must have thought so, too, because she didn’t dignify it with an answer.

“I have the route to the nearest hospital.”

“You know we don’t do that.”

“I’m supposed to report any and all damages to the suit,” she reminded them. “What’s going to happen, when Mr. Stark looks it over and realizes that they are bullet holes?”

“He’ll be all _‘Oh Peter, I’m so glad you’re okay_ ’ and then hug me,” Peter said confidently. Karen’s silence was judging and very much so calling them out on their bullshit. Finally, they groaned. “Okay, look!” they cried. “He’ll just worry about me all needlessly and stuff. I mean, this wasn’t supposed to end this way, even though he’ll know how it ended up, can we just… you know… leave this bit out? I’ll already be healed up by the time I see him next, anyway. And by then, I can, like, stage some other mishap where I got shot – not on a mission he literally approved me for.”

“Peter, you do realize that everything you do in this suit is recorded, right? Including everything you just said.”

Peter paused for a long second before groaning and flopping on their back. They yelped when they landed on their shoulder. “Bad idea, such a bad, _bad_ idea,” they whimpered as they tried to sit back up. “Oh my God, Karen, this really hurts.”

“I could call a paramedic,” she offered.

“They’d make me take off my suit so they could see the wound. No go.”

“Sam Wilson is a trained paramedic, and he already knows your secret identity,” Karen said, like it was a light bulb in an empty, desolate basement.

Peter’s breath caught. “You’re so right,” they realized. “Can you call him for me?”

The line rang without a further ado.

“Hey kid,” Sam greeted easily, third ring. “Finally decide to talk?”

Peter laughed tightly. “Not about what you think.”

* * *

 

     Sam was grumpy when Peter told him where he was.

Which was funny, because if anyone was grumpy, you think it’d be Peter, right?

Luckily, Sam wasn’t grumpy _at_ him. Mostly.

“You could have gotten yourself killed,” Sam chided as he rinsed out the wound with some saline. “Honestly, Peter.” Peter winced. Sam never said his full name. “And what the hell was Stark thinking, sending you all alone?!”

Peter played with the roll of gauze between his fingers. His suit was loose and hanging down to his hips so Sam could look at his wounds. They already had the one at his side cleaned and bandaged. The bandage was mostly to keep the blood from seeping everywhere again. It was already beginning to heal, the wound getting shallower and shallower as they spoke.

Now they were just waiting for the bullet to get pushed out of his shoulder

Well, at least they weren’t in the middle of the rain anymore. Instead they were in a back alley, sheltered from the rain by an overhang, so that the water poured down at their feet a foot and a half away. Peter sat on an old chair that was falling to pieces, and Sam stood behind him with all his supplies in a carefully organized pouch at his belt.

“It was a recon mission, there wasn’t a lot to do,” Peter argued. “I was supposed to just, like, drop in and do a quick scan, and a headcount, and get whatever bonus points I could before I booked it out of there.”

“If that’s all you did, how did you end up with two bullet holes in your tiny, tiny body?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “The rain snuck up on me, and then I accidentally broke some windows,” he deadpanned.

“Look.” Sam sighed tightly, and Peter was sure that he was pinching the bridge of his nose. “Even if all you’re doing is glancing from across the street, you still should have had someone on your six.”

“I had Karen on my six,” he cried out, properly offended on his partner’s behalf. “She does great!”

“Thank you Peter,” she said in his ear.

“You are _welcome_ ,” he sniffed, resolutely looking forward to avoid glaring at Sam. It’s not nice to glare at someone who came all the way to the city just because you got yourself mildly injured.

Even if he insulted your best gal.

Sam knocked a knuckle into his head. “I mean someone who can literally shove your ass out of the way if needed.”

“Like you and Cap? You shove his ass plenty.” Peter put a teasing lilt to his voice, smirking lightly.

“Don’t sass me, and _don’t_ make it sound like that. He and Bucky are already together, you know that.”

Peter felt a pinch in his shoulder and he winced, gritting his teeth.

“We’re almost there,” Sam announced, “just a little more, kid.”

“You know,” Peter gritted out, feeling the bullet shift inside of the wound. “Steve has two hands.”

“What does that mean?”

“I mean-.” He held up his left hand. “This one’s for Bucky, right,” he lifted his right hand as well, “this one…”

Sam cut him off sharply. “-Is also Bucky’s, because Buck has two hands too. Kinda. Most days.”

“Hold one of Bucky’s hands.” It was _really_ fucking simple, trust him. After all, Peter had _two_ partners, too. And he held their hands all the time.

“He is six types of protective around Steve, and there’s no goddamn way he’d ever let me hold his hand.”

“Steve’s or Bucky’s?” Peter asked to clarify.

“Either!” Sam burst before cutting himself off. “Wait, shit, I see the bullet.” He scrounged around for something, probably tweezers, by the way he dug around in Peter’s wound for a second and then pulled out the little offending thing. “Got it,” he announced. He stored it somewhere in his pouch before setting about cleaning Peter’s wound up.

“You kinda sound like you wanna hold their hands,” Peter remarked, not about to let it go.

“Cut it out, Pete,” he sighed.

“Dude, just talk to them. Communication’s, like, your _thing_!” Peter practically bounced in his seat until a loose spring jammed itself into his thigh. Which reminded him about the gun he was practically sitting on. He shifted his legs, tucking one atop the other.

Sam just patted his shoulder. “Your wound’s almost healed, but I’m going to bandage it anyhow. Gimme the gauze.”

Peter nodded wearily, handing it over his shoulder. There was literally no need. It would just be a hassle to take off, and then hide from Aunt May later. But then again, there was no fighting Sam Wilson off when he was concerned for your wellbeing.

He remembered at the airport during their whole _Team Edward/Team Jacob_ -esque fight, when Rhodey went down and Sam went to help him. Tony literally shot him in the chest, and he just wanted to help his old teammate who was on the other side.

“Thanks for this, Sam,” he said, twisting around to smile at him.

“No problem,” Sam said, patting his uninjured shoulder. “Are you going to be alright getting home? Do I need to call a cab? Or Happy?”

Peter shook his head. “I live near the area,” he lied. He was actually _kinda_ far away from their apartment, but no big. He’d just take the train if he get too tired. “Thanks, though.”

Sam nodded. “What am I supposed to tell Tony?”

Peter shifted around so that he was kneeling on the back of the chair. “Nothing,” he said, dragging out the syllables, making the end sounds more like a question than a definitive answer. He sighed, dipping his head “Please. Don’t tell Tony. He’s gonna be hella pissed.”

“Yeah, with some damn good reason,” Sam grumbled hotly. He sighed pointedly. “And you were bitching on me about communication.” Peter watched as he got all of his things packed away. “You gonna be good? Sure I don’t need to walk you home?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I’m not a baby,” he said petulantly. “I’m good, Sam, promise.”

Sam looked him up and down before shrugging slightly. “I can’t see your beady little eyes through that mask, so you’d better not by lying to me.”

Peter lifted up his hands innocently. “Swear.” He bent down and picked up his suit so he could fit his arms through the sleeves and tighten it back up again. “See? All good and Spidey again.”

“Yeah, just try not to get shot this time.”

Peter smirked under the mask, somewhat wishing that Sam could see it. “What fun’s that?”

* * *

 

     The apartment was quiet when he swung in through his bedroom window. He shut the window, shutting out the rain before he stripped his suit off and kicked it to the corner of his room, with the gun still stuck awkwardly to the thigh of his suit. And yeah, that’s right, he was at the point where he kicked multi-million dollar suits to the corner of his bedroom like a pair of dirty underwear. God, if Peter three years ago could see him now.

Thinking better of it, he picked it up and hung it over the back of his desk chair neatly, mostly so it could drip-dry without issue.

He changed into a good pair of pajamas, just leaving the bandaging for now, because his skin was skill scabbed over and kinda sore.

Making his way into the apartment, he found Aunt May curled up on the couch, a blanket curled around her shoulders as she watched something that looked suspiciously like Downtown Abbey. A show Peter has become kind of _really_ acquainted with since he learned from Tony that it was Happy’s favorite TV show.

He stopped by her on his way to the kitchen, kissing the top of her head. “Hey, May.”

She made a surprised noise, coming out of some kind of half-asleep trance. “Penny, hi,” she murmured. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Peter,” he noted gently, mostly out of reflex. “I came in through my room.”

She nodded. “Did you get water everywhere?” she questioned.

“Nope.” He didn’t actually look, but, uh… It’d be _fiiinneeeeee_ , probably.

“Good.” She reached a hand up and carded a hand through his sweaty hair. “There’s takeout in the fridge, grab some and come watch this with me.”

He grinned and nodded eagerly. “Yeah, totally!”

The Thai was good, and so was snuggling up to May while kind-of dozing off while the TV flickered on in the otherwise dark room while she carded her fingers through his hair absently.

He fell asleep like that, totally content.

* * *

 

     If Penny had the option to make an all new Captain America PSA, she would.

She’d have him stand larger than life, hands on his hips, beard all immaculate, and eyes tired. No makeup would be put on the tired bags on his eyes, no sir. They’d be all tired, and murder-y looking, and his voice would be stern when he said: “So.” Gotta stick to what works, after all. Except there wouldn’t be any gentleness, just Serious, Scared Straight material.

“You fucked up,” he’d say, because this wasn’t for high-schooler’s small-time mistakes, but rather Almost Adult’s Serious Screw Ups.

Like Penny’s negligence.

Michelle sat at her kitchen table, working her way through a grilled cheese sandwich when Tony called. Penny looked at her phone and blanched before tucking the phone back under her right thigh. Michelle eyed her from across the table and paused in her chewing.

“Everything good?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Penny answered, because, _yeah_ , it was fine.

“You usually jump on Starks calls,” Michelle said, glancing at the spot of the table covering up where Penny was sitting on her phone. She dragged the remaining bite of her sandwich though a blob of ketchup on her plate and popped it into her mouth.

Penny shrugged a shoulder. “Uh… Yeah, I kind of got into a sticky situation yesterday, and I haven’t been by the compound to debrief him yet. It’s not…” She winced. “It isn’t something I should probably tell him over the phone.”

“Did someone get hurt?”

Penny laughed nervously. “Uhm… Me?” Her shoulders hunched inward and she ate her own sandwich with acute concentration, so she didn’t have to look up at her girlfriend yet.

“How hurt are we talking?” Michelle asked. Penny did look up this time, and Michelle’s jaw was in a _line_. An ‘ _I’m not happy’_ , clenched, kind of line. It was a subtle tell, but _fuck_ , was it obvious to Penny.

“I mean…” Penny trailed off and shrugged. Her phone rang again, and she shifted so that her thigh pressed down on it more. “Not a _lot_ , per se. It healed _really, really_ quickly.” She chanced a glance to Michelle, and caught her girlfriend’s eyes. _Great, she was kinda pissed._ Her eyes were all lit up with bright, not all good emotions, and Penny shifted in her seat, accidentally making the phone ring louder. She grimaced and moved, covering the phone again. She took a deep breath and spit it out.

And it was _really hard,_ okay? It was like after eating loads and loads of ice cream, and your saliva gets all sticky and gummy, and generally uncomfortable to have in your mouth.

“I kinda got shot,” she confessed. And then all the words came out in a tumble. “And it wasn’t even really a big deal,” she insisted. “I got clipped on my side, and then one in my shoulder. _Both healed_ within, like, an hour, and I can’t even really, uh, _get_ infections. But I did have Sam look it over. He said it was all good, and he got the bullet out, and then he patched me up nicely, so I _promise_ , I’m incredibly fucking fine, babe.” It was like she pulled the bottom block out of a game of carefully balanced Jenga; all of the other blocks came tumbling after until they crashed on the floor.

And like when most things crashed to the floor, there was a lapse of silence.

Penny fussed with the hem of her shorts. They were cute, high-waisted and mint colored. She had spotted them in a thrift shop, and instantly fell in love with them. They were a perfect thing to focus on while her girlfriend tried to light Penny on fire with her eyes.

Michelle stood up, and for a split second, Penny thought she would leave. She was finally done with how Penny limped off to her secret corner to lick her wounds, keeping them a secret until they weren’t relevant anymore.

She’d be right to be fed up. Penny really couldn’t blame her for wanting to get out of dodge. Penny was a lot. She had so _much_ going on and what percentage of it was good?

She didn’t know, maybe like 16%. That’s the uninhibited _good_ parts that weren’t bogged down by Spiderman and the constant jumping into the line of duty and occasional bullets.

Michelle didn’t leave, though. Later, Penny would probably kick herself for assuming that she would.

After all, they were ride or die. All of them. She and Michelle and Ned were in this, hand in hand, and _ready_ ; no matter what came up.

Like Penny casually trying to get lead poisoning on a Wednesday afternoon.

Penny blinked away the thoughts as Michelle came to stand beside her. “Let me see,” she said.

It took Penny a second to understand what she meant, but she eventually got it and stood up. Her phone screen stuck slightly to the back of her thigh, but her skin peeled away fine and left it sitting innocently on the seat.

Penny took a little breath and unbuttoned her shirt. Baby blue and patterned, with navy colored buttons. Each one slipped free easily, revealing more and more skin to Michelle. She unbuttoned half of her shirt but left it tucked into her shorts, and finally threw it off of her shoulder and prodded the knotted muscle where her bullet wound had healed indicatively.

The skin was new and soft, and a bit paler than the rest of her golden toned shoulders. While there was no scarring, it was kind of obvious to the entrance wound was.

Michelle sighed through her nose and prodded her finger tips there carefully, working through the knotted muscle until the tension Penny held in her shoulders eased a bit and she sighed. Michelle pressed her lips against the skin and pressed a soft little kiss on her shoulder.

“Why do you insist on trying to get yourself taken out?” she demanded, voice tired, but resigned. She shifted Penny’s shirt out of the way and tucked a hand against Penny’s stomach.

Penny shrugged the opposite shoulder. “Will you kick me if I say it’s for the good of humanity?” She took Michelle’s hand and brought it around so it settled on her side, over where the second bullet had clipped her.

She snorted, running her hand over Penny’s side in slow, caressing movements. She hooked her chin over Penny’s shoulder and huffed a sigh so that it tickled Penny’s ear. “So Stark’s pretty much going to smite you off the face of the earth.”

Penny made a whining sound. “Yes. Most likely. This is, like, my last night of freedom before he just locks me up and never lets me back out again.”

Michelle laughed quietly and molded herself to Penny’s back. “We should call up Ned and make the most of it, then.”

 _Ooh_ , well didn’t that put all sorts of good knots in Penny’s stomach and make her knees weak like jelly.

She opened her mouth, to say something akin to _yes please_ , when her phone rang. Yet again. She glanced to her phone and found that it wasn’t even Tony this time, but _Pepper_.

She breathed out a curse, eyes going wide as she looked at the caller ID, and a press photo of Pepper. She looked all badass, and like she wouldn’t even hesitate to ruin a person’s career and drive their lives into the ground. Penny suspected that she was on the list of lives to ruin for today. _Oh, heck_.

“Pen,” Michelle said, obviously feeling her tense up. “Take the call.” Penny hesitated, and Michelle sighed, pulling away. “Go ahead.”

Penny bit her lip, but didn’t hesitate diving for the phone and answering the call.

“Hello?” she asked quietly. Her eyes squeezed shut of their own accord, and she knew that she looked ridiculous, with her shirt half-off, face all screwed up and eyes closed as she spoke on the phone.

Realizing that she could fix on of those things, Penny pressed the phone between her cheek and shoulder and began to button her shirt back up.

“Hello Peter,” she said warmly. _Oof_ , she wanted to correct her, but she was kinda scared to. Pepper was such a kickass woman, and that was damn _intimidating_. “Tony is in his office, yelling with a righteous fury. Know anything about this?”

Penny winced, guessing, “Is it because I’m not picking up my phone?”

“I’m sure that’s part of it,” she granted. She paused. When she spoke again, her voice was tight. “Are you free right now? I’d like to send a car for you.”

“Uh,” Penny said intelligently. “Yeah, okay. I was going to come tomorrow, like he wanted, so we could debrief.”

“It’d really be best if you could come today,” she said. Insisted. Tony always said that when Pepper insisted on things, they got done.

Penny nodded, despite Pepper not being able to see her. There was a clank in the sink, and she cracked her eyes open to see Michelle setting their plates in the basin.

“Okay,” she said finally. “Let me call Aunt May and get a bag together.”

“Someone will be there to pick you up soon.”

“Sure.”

And Pepper hung up, quick as you please, probably already off to go try and calm Tony down.

Penny sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging. “I… I have to go. Tony’s freaking out.”

She nodded like she understood. “Don’t let him yell at you too much,” she said. She shook off her hands and went back to Penny with a neutral expression on her face. “Stay safe, asshole. No guns.”

Penny snorted. “I promise.” Michelle kissed her soundly before turning her around and shooing her off to the bedroom, telling her to get her shit together.

Penny wondered if she meant it figuratively, as well as literally.

Because she was right both ways.

     Michelle stayed in the apartment after Penny left. She said that she was going to make dinner for May, a fact which earned her a grateful kiss and a tight hug before Penny had to slip on her shoes and run out the doors.

She was trying the heels again. She’d worn them for a little time every day just to get used to the feel of them, and she thought that she was finally ready to try the whole _heels in the lab_ thing again. – That was, if Tony even let her in the lab anymore. She might be, like, hella grounded or something.

And it really wasn’t even Penny’s fault, after all. It’s not like she stood there and said _Here I am, criminals! Shoot at me, promise I won’t move!_ Semicolon, capitol d.

As if she was so stupid.

It was _purely_ an accident, and what was she supposed to do? Immediately call Tony and whine that she got a little hurt? Nah. She wasn’t a child. She actually thought that she handled the situation pretty well, all things considering. The building was still there. She’d asked Karen earlier that day, and, even though the goons were all shook up, they weren’t really… _doing_ anything. They weren’t moving buildings, anyhow. Sure, maybe they were tightening security, but _seriously_ , it’d be fine.

Penny called May from the car (It wasn’t Happy that had come to pick her up this time. The dude looked about fifteen years younger than Happy, but with a deadpan look down to _pat_. He didn’t pick up any conversation Penny tried to start, and didn’t even act annoyed with her. Totally deadpan. It was admirable) and explained the situation. Not all of it. Not the guns and icky stuff, but the _Mr. Stark needs me, like, immediately and I’m on my way,_ stuff. She also told her that Michelle was cooking dinner.

That seemed to take off some of the sting from Aunt May’s shoulders, because she sounded _wary_ , but not pissed. That was a plus, so Penny took it and held on tightly to it.

When Penny walked into the lobby of the compound, she didn’t have her Friday earpiece. It was stuffed into the bottom of her bag, but she had forgotten to replace it with Karen’s earpiece. The lady who sat at the front desk (Penny wondered if she knew who Penny was. She knew that every person who worked in this building had been vetted, and was extremely trustworthy, but it still nagged at her mind. It had to be a little weird, seeing all these teenagers running around the building, seemingly without purpose) looked at him, seemingly alerted to her destination.

She nodded to her and motioned her over. “Mr. Parker.”

Penny smiled tightly, making a mental note to be sure to update her pronoun chart ASAP. “Yeah,” she confirmed.

“Mr. Stark wants to see you in conference room C.”

Oh shit. There was more than one conference room? How many were they? Did Tony pick the biggest, baddest one to make Penny feel small and sorry?

Sounded likely, and she wasn’t going to put it past him.

With a small voice, she asked exactly _where_ that was. Four and a half minutes later, Penny was making a slow, slow trek down the hallways of the fourth floor, feeling a bit like the prisoner going to the executioner.

Penny had expected Tony and Pepper together, but she didn’t get _quite_ what she thought she would.

Tony was sitting in the chair at the head of the table, Pepper sat in the chair to his right. Rhodey standing not too far off, sipping on a glass of water as he watched Tony warily. When Penny opened the door, the trio looked to her.

 _This is... Gonna be bad,_ she realized. She not only attracted Tony's wrath, but now Tony had to drag on his spouses along to probably hold him back from _really_ going on on Penny.

Rhodey smiled at her, and Penny wanted to relax into his calm, reassuring presence. “You’re lucky you didn’t get here sooner,” he told her, “he’s leveled a lot from where he was earlier.”

And Rhodey might’ve thought that was pretty funny, but Penny didn’t _dare_ laugh. She just stood by the door, her backpack over her shoulder because she came first thing and didn’t even drop by her room first.

“There’s certain shit you alert people to as its happening.” Tony’s jaw was set and he was slouched in his chair, twisting back and forth. He looked defeated and gray in a way Penny hadn’t often seen in him. He look, in a few words, weary. Old.

Like he was _absolutely_ tired of Penny’s shit. Which, _oh boy_ , get in line, Mr. Stark, there’s a long queue.

“I had it under control,” Penny insisted, coming a couple of steps farther into the room. She slid her backpack off her shoulders and settled it into an office chair at the end of the table. Was the distance between Penny and the others substantial? Kind of. Was it on purpose?

Uh. Kind of.

Until she got a gauge of just how hot Tony’s temper was running, she would be chill staying back here, bag close at hand. “And I was going to tell you about the suit, swear to God.”

Tony frowned at that, and he sat up. “What’s wrong with the suit?”

Penny’s eyes widened and her mouth snapped shut. “Er… Uhm, I-,” she stammered. She looked the adults over, how Rhodey paused _mid-sip_ to stare at Penny, like _now_ she was in trouble. “We aren’t here to debrief, are we?” she realized softly.

Tony held out his hand towards Rhodey, and the man wordlessly handed over his glass. He cradled it in his hands as he stood up. “No,” he said, “but apparently, _that_ is next on the agenda.” Penny swallowed thickly, but nodded helplessly. “Come here, sit down,” Tony beckoned, “You aren’t in trouble, we just need to talk a little bit.”

“’We need to talk’ is a great way to make someone relax,” Penny joked, but she took her bag and moved up the table until she was sitting a chair down from Pepper. She put her backpack on the table and sat down on the edge of her seat, subconsciously swiveling like Tony had been doing. “So what’s up? You’re not going to tell me that I’m adopted, are you?”

Rhodey snorted a laugh, and Pepper’s face softened into a sweet smile. Hell yeah, the tension decreased by at least 7%. A few more shitty jokes should make the air at least _breathable_.

Tony didn’t look very happy, or like he wanted to joke very much. _Oof_. Penny didn’t know how to deal with a serious Tony Stark very well. Serious Tony usually came out when Penny did stupid shit. Shit like sneaking onto alien spaceships. Or trying to stick two sides of a full-capacity ferry together with just her webs and some upper body strength.

And if Tony didn’t know about her getting shot at yet, it had to be something else.

And Penny wasn’t sure what else she’d done recently. The worst thing she had done in the past, like, three weeks was mouthing off to Loki the night after her big panic attack. But surely she could be forgiven, because she was kind of out of sorts, something everyone here could empathize with.

_Oh._

_Oh, wait a damn second._

Tony must have caught the realization dawning on her face, because he cleared his throat.

“Peter.”

“Penny,” she corrected him weakly. She slouched back in her chair, trying to focus in on her breathing. Surely they weren’t going to be calling her out on her panic episodes, right?

All she could think about was how she curled her arms around herself, tucked underneath her desk – how she cried in the lab’s bathroom after the sticky textures freaked her out – her conversation with Karen played over and over in her head.

_If I could, I would wipe my entire hard drive clean._

That wasn’t thinly veiled. Karen heard it and recognized it point blank.

Tony nodded. “Penny,” he amended. “You know that Friday records pretty much everything that happens on this compound.” That’s awfully creepy, Penny thought. “She screens it over herself and trashes anything irrelevant, but makes sure that she send me anything that gets a red flag stuck in it. It’s usually just security shit, but sometimes things start to pile up. They form patterns and Friday does her best to connect the dots, and send me the full picture.”

“What did she send you about me?” Penny asked, her fingers fussing against each other. She cleared her throat.

Tony seemed unhappy about that. Whether it was her fidgeting, or her pointed accusation that they were disrespecting her privacy, he pulled a sour face and moved across the room to sit in the chair on Peter’s right, blocking her in between him and Pepper. Her set his glass down and sucked in a breath.

“It’s not earth shattering,” he assured her. “You’ve been dealing with insomnia again, right?” She nodded, looking away from him. “Yeah. Penny, Friday pulled audio from Tuesday night, after I kicked you out of the lab and made you go back to your room.”

Penny grimaced. She couldn’t remember any talking going on. She remembered the sobs, and the heaving breaths, how she hurt from how much she cleared her throat.

“And then she gave me the feed for the morning after, how you slept on the floor.”

She nodded miserably. She chanced a look around the room, seeing how Pepper and Rhodey were paying full attention to all this. Tony’s closed fist knocked lightly into her arm and stayed there, prompting Penny to look at him.

“I’m trying to apologize,” he said bluntly.

Penny frowned. “Why?”

“Because I locked you in your room. Really, nothing good happens when I make one of you kids stay in your rooms.” He let a tired little laugh huff past his mouth. “I should have realized that you probably had something _more_ going on than just getting wrapped up in your projects. I know that’s what I’m doing in the lab late at night, running from my nightmares.”

Penny didn’t know what to say to that. She moved her arm so that she could mirror Tony, with her fist pressing gently into his upper arm, a steady reassurance that she was there, they were both focused in on this conversation.

“It’s not always like this,” is what she settled for. “I don’t usually… _need_ to run. It’s not always chasing me.”

Tony nodded. “That’s good,” he said. “Really good. But when they do, you have to realize that when you’re getting chased by nightmares with big sticks, you’ve got people around you that’ll chase them back. And our sticks are bigger.”

Penny laughed wetly, and looked up to the ceiling to try and keep her eyes from glazing over. She looked back to Tony with a smile. “Thanks, Tony.”

Tony nodded. “From now on, when you’re dealing with things like this, you gotta tell me. I might not be able to help much, but I’m well versed in the art of the panic attack, and I’m slowly learning how to kick its nasty ass.”

Penny hugged him, then, shooting forward to wrap her arms around him and squeeze tightly until Tony was wheezing, tapping out with a hand on her shoulder.

She made to pull back, but Tony hugged her back then, just as fiercely.

When he pulled back, he bopped her on the nose.

“Penny,” Pepper called behind her. She turned in her chair, wiping roughly at her eyes so she could look at Pepper properly. “That translates to any problem you’re having. Panic attacks, nightmares, or just needing someone. You have us.” She swept her hand from Rhodey to herself and then at Tony. “Call or visit me anytime. I’m always open for you, understand?”

Penny nodded, letting a smile grow on her mouth. “Thank you.”

She looked to Rhodey, expecting the same spiel, but he just crossed over to her side of the table and opened his arms. “Come on, kid,” he sighed. Penny got up and threw herself into his arms.

“You’re strong, kid,” he said into her hair. “You don’t worry me a bit.”

Penny let out a soft breath and relaxed into his arms. After a moment, she pulled away and sat back down. Rhodey did the same.

Tony nodded, clearly pleased with how everything turned out. But then he paused and frowned.

“Now, what the hell did you say happened to my suit?”

Penny winced, her shoulders tensing.

She laughed nervously. “About that.”

_Fuck, this wasn’t gonna be good._

**Author's Note:**

> So guess who didn't get his thor and loki and peter interaction?
> 
> this kid. it's me. which means there's gonna be anoTHER INSTALLMENT. UGH.
> 
> But like, at least two more because I set something truly beautiful for the next one, so i guess it'll have to be in the one after that???????? ugh. anyway, hoped you liked it! please send a comment if you did ♥
> 
> [tumblr](http://peanutbutterandbitter.tumblr.com)


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